


The Other Brother

by Cupcakesaremylife



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adopted Merlin, Crossover, Established Merlin/Arthur, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Holmes Family, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Merlin and Arthur are totes married, Modern Era, Sherlock Holmes & Merlin (Merlin) Are Siblings, merlin holmes, season two because sherlock isn't dead yet but mary isnt there either and moriarty tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcakesaremylife/pseuds/Cupcakesaremylife
Summary: Merlin comes home to see his brothers when something unexpected happens.





	1. Home

When Merlin Pendragon met Lydia and Gregory Holmes, he had just moved back to London from a fifty-year expedition through modern America, one of the rather few places he had yet to explore. He had gone before, he was on one of the first ships to successfully reach the new world (with the help of a little magic of course), but every couple hundred years he liked to return to see how things had changed. One of the main reasons he had returned, was admittedly money. Being a thousand-year-old immortal, he had to have obtained some wealth with all the knowledge he had collected, but Merlin wasn’t very good with his money. Each time he “died” and had to leave family and friends behind, they received an anonymous tip that would pay for whatever they needed. Also, traveling wasn’t cheap, and he had done a lot of moving around the past half-century.

Merlin de-aged himself back to about eighteen before he returned to London, posing as a student freshly out of high school and ready to travel the world. He renewed the spell that made him appear to age at a normal pace and tried to settle down. He stayed at a cheap hotel for as long as he could, but when his money ran out he was given the choice: sleep in the cold, rainy streets of London, or ask his best friends if he could stay in their warm, soft guest bedroom for a few days, and while he tended to be overly self-sacrificing, he wasn’t stupid.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes welcomed him into their home with welcome arms

He only intended to stay for a few weeks at the longest, he didn’t want to be a burden, but every time he tried to leave, saying that he had found a place to stay, Lydia would see through him like glass and insist that he stayed for just a few more days.

Eventually he quit his day job to take care of four-year-old Mycroft when he discovered just how much they were paying for childcare, it was the least he could do after everything they had done for him, and Mycroft agreed.

In the end, he never did move out. He became a sort of live-in nanny for the child, and as soon as they discovered how well he cooked, he began doing that too.

On his first birthday with them, he had to explain that his parents had died “a millennium ago” and thus weren’t coming to celebrate, and on his “twenty-first” birthday, they offered to legally adopt him.

\------------------------------------------------------- 

When six-year-old Sherlock asked aloud to the dinner table of Merlin could “use his magic to make the kids at school smarter,” he laughed it off.

“Sherlie, even if I did have magic, which I most certainly don’t, why would you want that? It’d be like being surrounded by a hundred more Mikes.”

Sherlock nodded at that, “But, you do have magic.”

Merlin looked at him, trying to mask fear from one the two smartest children he had ever come across was harder than it sounded. “Sure, I do,” he laughed.

The child looked confused now, ignoring Mycroft’s furious glares to get him to shut up, “But I saw you cooking three days ago, and the carrots were cutting themselves while you stirred the soup. I was magic! Like from the books.”

He blanched, he needed to be more careful. “Maybe it was a dream, because I don’t remember you being in the kitchen when I was making the soup.”

“Well of course you didn’t see me, I was using my new spy glasses.”

Lydia gave her husband a knowing look and said, ”Merlin sweetie, we will always love you, no matter what gifts you happen to possess.”

He looked around the table, and realized he shouldn’t have expected to be able to keep a secret from this family. This was the first time since Gaius that someone had found out about his abilities and still been accepting. 

That night he took off the aging glamour.


	2. The Reunion

Case hunting was not going well.

“Cara was always so sweet- “

“She’s dead. Boring.”

Next

“We still don’t know- “

“It was her husband.”

Next

“I think she kidnapped her.”

“They eloped in Sweden because your family is so bloody homophobic.”

Next

“I can’t find my doggy, his name is Jack.”

“Amazingly, your case is the most interesting one I’ve had in the past four hours, all the same he got lost and died with a nice young man on the other side of the city. He had a tumor which addled the state of his brain, and he didn’t know how to return home. Next”

“Sherlock, that was the last one.” John wearily glanced up from his highly-caffeinated tea. “You went through almost 70 cases and you didn’t choose any.”

“They were all too boring.” He pounced on his chair, hands buzzing with energy.

“Well then I guess you’ll have to find something else to occupy that big old brain of yours.”

“Have you phoned Lestrade?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s eleven at night, anyone in their right mind is home, going to sleep,” He stood up and brought his mug to the sink, “and I think I might just join them.”

Sherlock looked up, incredulous, “Murderers don’t have bed times John.”

“Well I,” he looked back at Sherlock, “do,” and walked into his bedroom shouting, “and no drugs!”

\---------------------------------------------------------

John awoke the next morning to see a dark figure standing over Sherlock who was passed-out on the couch. The figure was wearing worn brown boots, jeans, and a shorter version of Sherlock’s signature coat with a bright red shirt peeking out the bottom. His hair was brown so dark it looked black, and while he didn’t look intimidating, he had broken into their house without Sherlock noticing. Then again, Sherlock could sleep through almost anything.

John snuck back to his room, making sure the stranger didn’t notice him, and grabbed his revolver. When he made it back to the living room, he turned around, revealing blue eyes that widened to the size of saucers when he saw the gun pointed at him. The man slowly raised his hands from his pockets.

“Woah, no need for-“ 

“Who the hell are you and how did you get in here.”

After he recovered from the shock of possibly dying at any given moment, he realized that he recognized the face. “Oh, you’re John Watson, right? I love the blog.”

“So, you’re a fan? That doesn’t explain why you broke into our flat.”

He laughed, “I like to think I’m a little more than a fan.” He kept his hands in the air but turned to knee Sherlock in the back, making John lower his gun, surprised at the way he treated the genius like an old friend. 

“Sherlie, Sherlie wake up,” he said in a sing-song voice. 

Now John was downright confused.

Sherlock just grumbled, but with a bit more prodding he rolled over and looked at the man curiously. “What are you doing here?”

Merlin just rolled his eyes. “Call him off, would you?”

“John don’t worry, he’s nowhere near dangerous.”

“I take offense to that.” He said as John lowered the gun and walked over to put it away. Now, he finally lowered his arms and tuned to face his brother fully.

“It’s defense, not offence.”

“Whatever, grammar Nazi.”

“Old man”

“Shorty”

“We’re the same height!”

John coughed, interrupting Sherlock’s indignant cry. “I don’t even know your name.”

Merlin smiled and walked over to shake his hand. “The name’s Merlin, I trust Sherlock has told you about me at least once?” He sent a pointed look at the form on the couch but it just groaned.

John gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry, I don’t think he’s ever mentioned you.”

Merlin looked exasperated, but not surprised. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes! You were raised better than this! The two of you have been living together for almost four years now and you never thought to mention me?”

Sherlock sat up, nearly pouting. “You never answered my calls, you never visited, you’re even worse than Mycroft.”

“Sherlie I was in Asia, I couldn’t just pop in to say hello, and I told you, I got a new phone. Anyway, I’m here now, and that’s what matters.”

John sat down in his chair, finally starting to get a handle on what was happening. “So how did the two of you meet?”

Merlin shook his head, “He really did tell you nothing about me. I’m his brother.”

That was one of the few things John didn’t expect to be the answer. “But you’re so normal,” he said before he could stop himself.

“I’m adopted,” Merlin supplied.

This just made him feel even worse. “I’m sorry, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your parents?”

“It’s fine,” he gave a sad smile, “they died, but it was a long time ago. It just means that my current family chose me.”

John gave him an impressed look. “That’s a great way of thinking, I’m glad to see that Sherlock and Mycroft’s famous apathy didn’t rub off on you growing up.”

“I’m right here, you know,” came from the couch.

“We know, we just don’t care,” said Merlin as Mycroft came through the door. 

John went down to have a discussion with Mrs. Hudson about letting people just waltz into their flat while Mycroft went to see Merlin. “Hello brother, dear.”

“Hey Mike. My, how the two of you have grown.”

Mycroft nodded, “I can’t say the same.”

Merlin just shook his head. “You guys are so impersonal, come here,” and before they could run far, he forced them into a group hug, magically freezing them in place when they tried to escape his love.

However, when John came back up the stairs he was forced to release his hold lest John find out about his magic. He laughed yet again when he saw the man’s shock at Sherlock being the least bit affectionate.


	3. Sibling Rivalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They may seem ooc at first, but I act completely different with my siblings than I do with everyone else and I always assume that everyone in the entire world is exactly like me so......
> 
>  
> 
> **S4 SPOILERS**  
> I know that yesterday something happened that kinda makes this entire story impossible, but Merlin and Arthur aren’t canonically ~~out~~ together either so whateves. Also the reason I didn’t post yesterday was because of that episode, but don’t get used to daily updates either, you’ll probably be disappointed in like a week when I start updating once every five years.

The next couple of days went by without any major incidents. There were quite a few minor incidents though.

Monday, the day the Merlin first arrived, was perhaps the most frustrating of the five days. Having three Holmes in one room was never a good idea, especially with only one other to moderate. The trio had the amazing ability to make a family-destroying argument out of nothing. Somehow, with the addition of Merlin’s presence, both Sherlock and Mycroft became increasingly childish. 

After about an hour John decided to just sit back and watch, nothing he had tried so far would work and he was out of ideas. The conversations went something like this.

“Just because you are Mummy’s favorite doesn’t give you power over us.” Sherlock spat.

Merlin tried to speak but was cut off, “Mum doesn’t have favorit- “

“I never claimed to have power over you, I do however claim that I am right and I stand by that.” Mycroft crossed his arms, nearly pouting.

“I was talki- “

“You did so!” Sherlock on the other hand, was definitely pouting.

“Shut up you prats, I am trying to speak!” Merlin was the only one John had ever seen who could break up the pair’s feuds. Although it did make sense, he probably had plenty of practice.

“Prat, such an archaic term, it must be as old as the story of Merlin.” Sherlock quipped.

“Sherlock- “

“Oh, using the full names, he must be serious!” He said, flashing a face of mock concern.

“I said, shut up!” Merlin didn’t look mad, just annoyed. “It’s not my fault that you’re both pansies that can’t take a drop of pain.”

“I can take pain! I’ve been bloody tortured!” Mycroft felt the need to defend his honor.

Merlin looked astounded, and frankly offended. “Are you kidding me? You have never been tortured with anything near the torture I’ve been tortured with!”

“Merlin,” Sherlock warned, sending an almost imperceptible yet pointed look back to the couch John was spectating from.

The boy in question huffed. “None the less, it’s barely anything.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and Sherlock said, “Last time we let you spice the chili I couldn’t taste anything for six hours!”

“That’s what sour cream is for.”

“Sour cream is nasty!”

Before things could get even worse, Mrs. Hudson called out from the kitchen, making all three boys glare her way. “I can always make half of it spicy and half of it not, you know.”

Silence entered the flat for the first time in almost three hours.

“How did we not think of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“We are such idiots.”

“You mean _you_ are such idiots.”

“Shut up Sherlock.” 

\----------------------------------------------

Just an hour later, Mycroft had had enough and left the flat much earlier than originally intended.

“Well, try not to get into too much trouble.” He picked up his umbrella from beside John’s cane.

“Never,” Merlin retaliated.

So, he waltzed out, ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s cry of “You haven’t even finished your chili!”

“I love you,” Merlin called as he went out the door.

He hesitated at the words but continued on.

“Mike,” Merlin yelled, as if expecting something.

The (physically) eldest brother tried to continue, but after ten solid minutes of struggling with the door, he gave a resigned, “I love you too,” and it was opened.

\-----------------------------------------------

On Tuesday, the three walked through London. It would have only taken a few hours, but Merlin was unusually excited by the cars racing past, the food, and especially the electronics stores. John couldn’t help but stare, this man had seen an iPhone before, right?

Noticing John’s confusion as Merlin went on about how amazing headphones were, Sherlock explained that he had been in undeveloped regions of Asia for the past year and a half building schools in places than need it, and hadn’t seen many of the recent advancements. In truth, he had spent the last decade there, but the rest was true.

The warlock ended up buying two new scarves with Sherlock’s money after an amazingly executed puppy dog face from Merlin, and a glare from Sherlock when he realized what had just happened.

\---------------------------------------------------

All of Wednesday was thrown to the dogs when Sherlock discovered the state of his brother’s wardrobe and demanded to update it.

\---------------------------------------------------

Thursday was spent playing board games and other useless things, at least that is until they got a call from Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg Merlin forcing affection on them is bootyfull and I think Sherlock has reached the height of his gayness like seriously boy


	4. An Unusual Case

Getting Merlin to the scene was difficult. Thankfully, the crime had happened just a mile away at a history museum. He had complained of a headache all day, but when the others tried to leave him at home so he could get some rest, he refused. Amazingly, Sherlock listened.

They reached their destination much later than anticipated and found Lestrade waiting for them outside.

“Where the hell have you been?” he cried, before eyeing the pale figure walking with John a few steps behind. “Sherlock, you can’t keep bringing weirdos off the street to help you, this is a crime scene.

The detective looked on, unimpressed. “Either he comes in, or I don’t.”

Lestrade looked conflicted for a minute before sighing, “Fine. This one is right up your alley, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Everything seemed perfectly normal before they got to the Medieval Exhibit. The room was rather large, with one slightly raised platform in the middle, which was surrounded by shattered glass. The plaque lying on the ground said that the glass had held a breastplate, dated around 600 A.D., around the time when King Arthur was said to have lived, and there were blast marks on the floor and walls. The one curious thing, was that the glass had been blown out from the center meaning that the bomb was inside the case when it went off.

As soon as Merlin entered the room, having been held back by some guy with a terrible haircut insisting he put on shoe covers, he felt a familiar and slightly concerning wave of magic, his magic. He had donated a piece of one of Arthur’s foot soldier’s armor a few centuries ago, but he had assumed it was long gone. Over the years, he had put countless protection spells over his possessions, including the breastplate, and he didn’t see a point in removing them when he donated it. 

He had an idea of what had happened, but he didn’t know why.

When he was just a child, he had learned that if you put too many spells on a non-magical item, it would explode, but now that all magic except for him had disappeared from this world, it didn’t matter. Many of the basic laws of magic had fallen apart over the years, but Merlin didn’t see a point in fixing them, there was no one left to break them. 

As his brother always said, “If you eliminate the impossible, whatever’s left, however improbable, must be the truth,” but what if even the truth was impossible? 

He knew in his heart that Arthur wasn’t back, he hadn’t come home during the World Wars, and no matter what people said, 2016 was not the end of the world.

However, that did not eliminate the possibility that a magical creature had been born.

He tried not to get his hopes up though, it was probably something stupid like Nimueh’s 1500th birthday so the balance of magic was wavering.

After explaining to Sherlock that his headache was getting worse, he began to walk home, not seeing his brother’s worried glance.

\---------------------------------

As he walked, his mind strayed to imagining what would happen if Arthur did return. First and foremost, he would check to make sure he had his memory, but after that, they could finally live in a world not quite as homophobic.

In Camelot, Arthur had secretly married Merlin with the help of Gaius, but when the king met his demise only a few months later, there was no one besides distant relatives, who didn’t know the people, to rule. Merlin, Gaius, and Gwen fabricated a story that Arthur had been secretly married to Guinevere, but hadn’t told the people because he was afraid they wouldn’t agree with him marrying a servant, and she took the throne. Gwen turned out to be a good queen, the people loved her and she loved them back, but after he made sure that she was settled, Merlin fled Camelot in grief.

Though he didn’t want to believe it, the warlock had suspected that he was immortal his entire life. As a child, he came down with some terrible illness, looking back it was probably some sorcerer trying to kill him so he could harness the power of Emrys, but he had miraculously recovered after his heart stopped beating for a few seconds. 

That idea was only cemented when he was speared straight through the heart from behind while fishing, and still managed to knock out his attacker before going to heal himself, where he found his heart completely undamaged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay seriously, does Sherlock have ADHD/ADD? I'm not joking, I think he does


	5. Gossiping

When Merlin left, Sherlock began to rattle off deductions, feigning nonchalance. His younger brother rarely ever felt unwell, and the look in his eyes when he entered that room made him even more concerned. Contrary to public belief, Sherlock really did care about his family, he just knew that Mycroft could handle himself, and sadly his other brother wasn’t the same. Merlin tended to be an idiot sometimes, getting himself into unusual and dangerous situations, befriending people who aren’t good for him, it was a miracle that he was still alive, even if he is immortal.

After not too long, he managed to break off from the group, convincing them that he couldn’t think with them in the room. 

“I still don’t understand why he refuses to let us take him to a doctor.” John asked, getting into the cab.

“I’ve told you this John, he’s a hippie, he prefers traditional medicine.” Sherlock turned away to stare at the window, indicating that the conversation was over, but a few minutes later, John just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why did you never tell me about him?”

“Who?” Sherlock knew who John was referring to, but he wanted to prolong this conversation, even for only a second longer.

“Your brother.”

He sighed. “Merlin isn’t normal. He may seem like an idiot, and he is, but he is also perhaps the most powerful person I have ever come across. Sadly, both Mycroft and I are in the political scene and so neither of us ever speak of him, we couldn’t risk the government overhearing.” 

John shook his head, the boy seemed so normal. “Is that why he is always staying abroad, moving around?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said, his breath fogging up the cold window.

John muttered something along the lines of “I guess having a normal Holmes is impossible.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but the doctor continued. “Just how bad would it be if the government did find him? What would happen?”

“They might try to control him.” Sherlock was proud of his brother, but he was also constantly worried about him.

“And?”

“Let’s just say, it would not be good.”

\-------------------------------------------

John and Sherlock arrived just a few minutes after Merlin. He was standing at the dining room table, clearing away whatever project Sherlock was currently working on.

“Merlin!” he rushed over to stop his brother from pouring corrosive acid into a plastic container. “I’m not done with that.”

“Well if you hadn’t left it out I wouldn’t be cleaning it up.” Merlin retorted and moved over to the desk in the living room. 

“Don’t touch that either.” Sherlock called from the kitchen.

“Well what can I clean? I need something to do while I think,” he placed a stack of books down with a thud. “Sherlie, this case makes no sense, and I need to find out what it means.”

The detective rolled his eyes, used to this behavior. “John has been telling me to clean the refrigerator, you can do that.”

He did just that, not bothered in the least by the assortment of body parts, and 221B Baker street lapsed into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chappie I know but the tfhc needs love and after ATY I am shook


	6. 140KPH

It was almost four hours later and still none had come up with any plausible theories. John, only after all of his other ideas were exhausted, had jokingly toyed with the idea of magic being to blame, but it was quickly banished from his mind.

Sherlock was skillfully abstaining from any drugs, which tended to help on the tougher mysteries. He happened to know that, though he would never use it, his brother was well trained in the art of knife throwing. 

At exactly eight o’clock, the long-held silence was pierced with a sharp yell and the shatter of Merlin’s seventh cup of tea. He hunched over, curling into himself as he gently raised his hands to his head, breathing heavily. Both of the other men in the flat jumped at the sound. John immediately went in doctor mode, coaxing him over to the couch to lie down, while Sherlock struggled to suppress his panic enough to be useful.

Merlin, in his pain induced haze, didn’t feel like caring that John had no idea he had magic. As soon as he saw the man reach for his phone, it shot out of his hand, shattering against the wall.

“No, I know what this is,” he managed through tight teeth.

John stared at the wall in shock. “Sherlock? You’d better explain what the hell that was.”

The man in question shook his head, “In time, now Merlin, what is going on?” His voice was becoming increasingly more frantic as his control on his emotions started to wane.

Merlin’s breathing slowed just a bit, the pain was finally starting to lessen, but still not enough for a proper explanation. “Turn on the radio.”

Sherlock gave a quick scan of the room, “We don’t have a radio.”

“Then use the other thing! The one with the screen.” Opening his eyes would only make the migraine worse, but he could still listen.

“The telly?”

“Yes! I don’t care! Something with the news.” He didn’t mean to yell, but he really needed to know.

When the television displayed nothing out of the ordinary Merlin began trying to stand, much to the others’ displeasure.

They tried to stop him, even resorting to holding him down at one point, but he wouldn’t stop fighting. It was only when he started mumbling about dragons and princes that Sherlock raced to the kitchen, and came back with a wet rag, which he held firmly over his brother’s face.

John snatched the towel away from his flatmate as the warlock collapsed on the couch. “Sherlock Holmes! Why on earth do you have chloroform?”

Sherlock looked down at his brother. “I think that that might not be the most important detail in this situation.”

Conceding that he was right, he began to examine the man on the couch for injuries or anything else that could have caused this. “Will you tell me what happened to my phone, now?”

He shook his head, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes. “It is not my place to say.”

John shook his head, he knew that he wouldn’t win this battle. “Will I ever know?”

Sherlock took a minute to think about his answer, something that he rarely did. “I will talk to Merlin, but know that if he does tell you and you don’t keep it to yourself, I am not responsible for what happens.”

He looked at the detective for a moment, clearly not having expected that answer, before turning back to examining the man on the couch.

\------------------------------------------

Sherlock was woke quite abruptly someone shaking him. “Do you two have a car?”

“No,” he said, “We live in the middle of London, of course we don’t have a car.”

Merlin huffed and jumped up. “Grab your coat.” 

He ran over to wake up John, and Sherlock finally had a chance to properly wake up. He was still sitting in his chair in the sitting room. John had insisted he be the one to watch over his brother because he was the one who decided it was a good idea to use chloroform on an already weak man. When he looked over to check the time, he was annoyed to see it displaying a bright 1:29 am, next time he would have to use a higher dose.

John wandered dazedly into the room as Merlin grabbed his brothers coat and threw it at him. “Could you possibly be any slower?”

They begrudgingly followed him out the front door, careful as to not wake their landlady. Merlin was speaking into Sherlock’s phone, looking quite annoyed. “Thank you, and hurry up or I will be forced to hijack a cab.”

He glanced over as they shut the door. “That was Mycroft, he’s sending a car. You can still legally drive, right, Sherlie?”

“Yes,” he fixed his hair. “Why can’t you just have the chauffeur do it?”

Merlin didn’t answer, choosing to stay within the safety of his own mind instead.

Finally, the car arrived and they all piled in, leaving their chauffeur-to-be there standing alone on the side of the road.

John and Sherlock watched as the man in the passenger seat went through a roller coaster of emotions. He laughed, he cried, but the only words he ever uttered were directions and “Sherlie, speed up.”

After he had finally calmed down enough to think straight, he glanced over at the speedometer and adopted a glance of horror. “You mean to tell me that we’ve only been going 100 kilometers per hour? Pull over, I’m going to drive.”

Sherlock didn’t even look over as he slowed to a stop. “Good, I hate driving.”

But John, who was still wide awake in the back seat didn’t agree. “I thought you said you didn’t have a license,” it was more of a question than a statement.

“And you own an illegal handgun. I think we’re even.”

As he slid into the passenger seat, Sherlock was reminded of a rather important fact. “You never told us where we were going.”

Merlin sped up until he was at a nice, safe 140 kilometers per hour, but neither of the other men would dare argue with him.

“Chester. It’s about four hours from London, but I think I can manage to cut our time down to three, and it's the birthplace of King Arthur and where the beautiful Kingdom of Camelot once stood.”

“Okay,” John blinked, “Why Chester?”

Merlin looked at him in the mirror. “I just told you, it’s where King Arthur lived.”

“But those are just legends, stories.” The doctor was worried that the headache had seriously damaged his mind.

“You would do well to respect things you don’t understand,” Merlin sighed, before falling silent once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am about to change it from established Johnlock to them being just friends so I can write their love confession. Hope I didn't confuse anyone, sorry


	7. Driving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

"Is it Arthur?"

Merlin couldn't look at his brother, he wouldn't dare take his eyes off the road at his new speed of 160kmh, but he did spare a glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure John was asleep.

"It wasn't that hard to figure out, what with all the bedtime stories you always told me about "King Drago and his knights." An immortal wizard named Merlin who lived in a time with dragons and druids? Really, you could have done better at hiding it."

He sighed, decreasing his speed just enough to be able to focus on talking. "Honestly it was because I knew that I wouldn't be able to bear hearing you say their names. If I used ones I made up, like Drago for Arthur and Shawn for Gwaine, I could pretend that they were just stories, it didn't hurt as much."

"If they hurt, then why did you tell them to us, why not just make up some?"

"Because I was starting to forget, a thousand years is a long time you know.” He forced a little laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “But yeah, I think he’s coming back.”

He started to cry again at those words, nearly swerving off the road. “Oh God, he’s coming back!”

Sherlock looked at the man with suspicious eyes. He couldn’t help the terrible thought that popped into his head. It wasn’t possible, was it? No, Merlin would never do that, he wouldn’t betray him like that. He couldn’t.

But at the same time, it would make a lot of sense.

He never knew whether to call Merlin his big brother or his little brother. On one hand, he was technically older, he had raised them as much as his parents had. But, he was still physically twenty-six. He also acted twenty-six, if that, and Sherlock and Mycroft often ended up looking out for him like they would a younger brother. He remembered having asked him what he should call him once, but apparently Merlin couldn't decide either.

No matter his blood, his brother was still a Holmes, and that meant he would never let himself be tricked into such treacherous waters. Sherlock certainly hadn’t. No, of course not, he was above that.

While he himself had dabbled in almost everything terrible, from drugs to coops, this was one territory that had always been off limits, by far the most dangerous, and he feared that his brother had succumbed to the siren’s song.

After long consideration, he decided that the only way to truly be sure was to ask, however painful the answer might be.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?” Thank God, he had finally stopped crying.

“Did- did you and Arthur have a romantic relationship?”

Merlin blushed, no matter how old he got, he was raised in a time when homosexuality was the sign of the devil working in someone, but he was reminded that his brother didn’t care about your sexuality, he just needed to make sure that he hadn’t been tainted by that crazy emotion they call “love.”

Now he laughed, Sherlie was such a hypocrite. He demanded no-one be in love, when even he, himself, was breaking that very rule, though he didn’t know it.

He looked over at the passenger seat and brought the ring he always wore around his neck into the light. “You didn’t know? Arthur and I are married.”

Sherlock was truly horrified, this was worse than he could have anticipated. He coughed, after a moment of shocked silence. “So, he’s coming back?”

“I think so,” came the reply, “I have no idea how long I’ve waited, but I know it’s been far too long. Kilgharrah, the dragon, said that Arthur would only return when the world needed him the most, which honestly worries me a lot, but I figure I can put you and Mike on the case until Arthur has adapted to modern life.”

“And what gives you the impression that I would let you just abandon us?”

“I wouldn’t abandon you, I’d come back if something major went wrong, and do you really want a newly reunited couple living with you in your tiny flat?” He looked at his brother, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock gazed back, confused but unperturbed, and Merlin felt like laughing. “I thought you were supposed to be smart!”

Now he was offended. “What?” He cried, even more confused than before.

“Think Sherlie, what do young couples do, especially if they’re married?”

When his brother stayed silent, the warlock had to resist the urge to swerve into oncoming traffic. “We are going to be having sex, and a lot of it too.”

Sherlock was immediately silenced, turning instead to look out the window. 

The rest of the ride went relatively smoothly.


	8. The Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wondering, last chapter I used the word "sex," should I change the rating to teen? I mean everyone who reads fanfiction has at least heard the word, but still idk. What do you think?

John really had been asleep for most of the trip, but it was impossible not to be awoken when they swerved and he went flying across the seat. Sherlock and Merlin clearly didn’t notice as one was sobbing and the other lost in thought. 

The pair started talking again a few minutes later and he was almost back asleep when he heard something strange.

“Kilgharrah, the dragon, said -“

He hoped it was code, but it was always possible that the boy was delusional, he'd learned to consider any idea, no matter how extreme, over the years.

Although, John knew so little about what was going on that it very well could be an actual dragon.

He never had been given a proper explanation of what happened back at Baker street. Merlin hadn’t thrown anything at the phone to knock it out of his hand, and even if he did, it had to have been extremely powerful to make the phone shatter when it hit the wall. Maybe Mycroft had installed some sort of self-destruct mechanism in his phone when he wasn’t looking and Merlin somehow used that.

He really had no idea how powerful the youngest Holmes was. It wouldn’t be unrealistic for him to be the estranged prince of England with this family.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Amazingly, they arrived at the lake only three hours and eight minutes later, over an hour less than average due to Merlin’s dramatic speed.

The lake of Albion and surrounding forest had been turned into a national forest a few decades back, keeping it safe from the terrors of modernization. Sadly, the lakeside was not nearly as abandoned as some could have hoped. There were several police cars dotting the perimeter, and even an ambulance for some reason.

Merlin slowed to the speed limit when he saw the sheriff's car and after a crude parking job, raced over to the edge of the tape.

"Sir!" He cried and when none of the officers heard him, he bit out a curse and ducked under the tape. Sherlock and John followed closely behind, the former whipping out one of Mycroft's countless stolen badges when the men started to yell.

"Sir, I'm sorry, this is a crime scene. You are going to have to -"

Sherlock cleared his throat, rising his arrogance to Mycroft-esque levels. He quickly flashed the card, carefully covering the picture with his finger. “Mycroft Holmes, I would tell you my position but I doubt you’re even qualified to hear that. Just understand that it would be in your best interests to do what I say.”

The main offender, one “Deputy Shank” by his name tag, instinctively straightened his posture, clearly military. “Of course, sir, my mistake.”

“Yes, it was. Now, why don’t you tell my friend here what he wants to know.”

But Merlin shook his head. “He’s not here,” he said dejectedly staring over the lake.

The officer perked up, “You know him? The man we found here?”

He pulled himself out of whatever dark thought currently entrapped his mind, to gape at Deputy Shank. “What, where is he?”

“We sent him to stay with the Patterson’s, they’re a lovely folk, I assure you -“

Merlin interrupted him, “Yes, I’m sure they are, the address?”

The officer sighed, “Look, that’s confidential information. I can’t ju -“

But with a second flash of the badge, he broke. “32 Gerard Way. It’s about ten minutes southeast.”

And they were off.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The house was ordinary enough, it was two stories, likely an apartment, and covered in rough stone. Directly across the street was a church, not that Merlin noticed as he knocked at the blue door with much more force than was necessary.

He didn’t break the door down, but he couldn’t stop himself from considering it. The woman who answered the door was still in her pajamas, but she looked wide awake. “May I help you?”

Merlin tried to fumble out a response, but when he catastrophically failed Sherlock was there to save the Day. “We were told that you are currently housing the man who was found at the lake.”

“That information wasn’t to be released until tomorrow, who are you?” She tensed, but smiled when Sherlock once again pulled out Mycroft’s badge. “I’ll let you see him, but I have to warn you; he’s not in the best mental state.”

She pulled open the door, deposited the metal bat she had been hiding in her hand on the table and turned to them. “He claims to be King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.”

Merlin sharply gasped and she nodded. “He doesn’t seem to remember much besides the world he made in his head.”

Sherlock interrupted, seeing his brother’s distress. “Yes, this is all very sad. Can we see him now?”

She scrunched her nose at his sassy tone, but led them to a room just down a short hallway. “Be careful, and _kind_ ,” she said, looking directly at Sherlock, “He’s pretty skittish.”


	9. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh sorry for taking over a month.....

The door was open before Merlin even knew what was happening, and there he was. He was still awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the disembodied lamp cord wrapped in his hands like a whip, but he relaxed slightly when he saw the familiar face. “Merlin, care to explain what you did this time?”

He forgot to breathe for a moment, and his knees barely held him up. He had tried to prepare himself, but hearing that voice, in its usual posh tone, was more than he could handle.

The woman who owned the house, God bless her soul, took a clue and quietly left, closing the door behind her.

A million emotions swept him away, and he couldn't decide quite where to land, but it seemed Arthur didn’t understand how drastic the situation was, and it certainly couldn’t stay that way.

Merlin strode forwards, hauled the man on the bed to his feet, and slapped him, tears already forming. 

“What was that for?” the blond cried, and he stared shocked into Merlin’s eyes, their chests almost touching.

“And who is this?” John asked Sherlock, being quiet as to not enrage him even more.

“My fiancé.” Merlin spat, not breaking eye contact with the king.

“Fiancé?” Arthur repeated, “I thought we were married.”

“You’ve been demoted.” Merlin said, his voice becoming weak.

”What for?” Arthur’s eyes started to soften too.

“For leaving me.”

Arthur looked legitimately regretful, an expression that didn’t suit his face. “I know, I’m sorry, but I’m here now. And besides, what make me think that you can demote me? I’m the ki- “

“Not anymore you aren’t.”

He tried to seem annoyed but it couldn't convince the one who knows him best, and he quickly melted into something strangely similar, love. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he laughed, “you clotpole.”

He heard Sherlock leave in a storm of stomps and groans when they hugged, and John followed behind a moment later.

\-------------------------------------------------

They lay in the too soft bed. They hadn’t done anything dirty, not yet, they were just cuddling, reveling in each-other’s presence.

There was a window on the other side of the room from which the couple watched the sun rise above the trees, one of the only things that hadn’t changed since they were last together.

“I don’t blame you for being gone, but all those years nearly drove me insane. I’ve forgotten many things that I wish I hadn’t, how it felt to sing with the druids, or the names of some of the serving hands. I was just so alone.”

Arthur gave the sun a hopeful smile and rubbed his lover’s back. “Well, I’m here now.”

Merlin snorted, “I’m not sure which is worse.”

“You know you love me.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He looked up into Arthur’s eyes.

“I love you too.”

And even though they were sleeping in a complete stranger’s house, he had never felt more at home.

\---------------------------------------------------

“John”

“John”

“John”

“What, Sherlock?”

The two were situated in the only spare room left, that of the Patterson’s eldest son who had recently left for college. John was laying on the bed, trying rather unsuccessfully to get a few hours rest, and Sherlock was perched atop the bean bag, lost in thought with no plan of coming back to earth.

“Who is the president of America?”

John groaned, “How do you not know this?”

“Deleted it.”

“Fine,” but his exhausted brain took a beat to respond for duty, “Obama, I think.”

After a few long moments, John gave into his curiosity. “Why do you need to know that?”

There was no reply.

“Good talk,” and he fell back to sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------

The morning came much too quickly for any of their likings, but they congregated in the living room anyway. When the family’s children woke up and started asking questions, the father, who was very much not a cop, took them all out for ice cream before school.

Merlin finished Arthur’s release form with totally accurate contact information, Mrs. Patterson wished them the best, and they were heading back to London, Sherlock driving this time.

It took a good bit of convincing to get Arthur into the car, but seeing how terrified he was of just that, Merlin quickly put him back to sleep as soon as they left the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyyyyyyyyyy 221Kudos


	10. Whisky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to give some kind of excuse but no I’m just lazy, sorry for the two month wait but then again with these fandoms not having regular content isn’t really a new concept

The drive back was much more peaceful, but consequently much longer. Merlin sat in the backseat, Arthur’s unconscious form leaning up against him, and when they returned to Baker Street, the only change the pair had made was one of scenery. Alarmingly, three grown men dragging a lifeless body out of a pitch-black car, didn’t draw many stares from the people of London, but it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

However, all good things must come to an end, and when Arthur was finally situated on Sherlock's bed, John came to the conclusion that him being kept in the dark any longer was cruel and just unnecessary.

“Alright,” he said, the two brothers were sat on their respective seats, giving him the higher ground, which frankly seemed rather appropriate. “I have a right to know what the hell is going on around here. First, your,” he points at Sherlock, “mysterious brother breaks into our flat, apparently the most powerful person on the planet, then his boyfriend shows up at a lake spouting gibberish, then I hear the two of you going on about bloody dragons! What am I missing out on?”

Sherlock, used to John’s temper, turned to his brother and received what he could only assume was a nod of permission, knew that he’d be notified if he missteps, and so didn’t bother holding back.

“Believe it or not, there are things in this world that even I do not understand.” Sherlock received a forced laugh and a knowing nod, probably not the reaction he hoped for, but continued anyway, “and so, Merlin, I am leaving the explanation up to you.”

Said warlock raised his eyebrows for a long moment, waiting for the ‘just kidding’ to pop out and smack him in the face. “Sher, are you acknowledging that I might be better than you, in even one way?” He laughed at the grumbled answer, but stopped when he caught John’s expression. “Sorry, that hasn’t happened in, what, 29 years? Anyway,” he chewed his tongue, trying to find the best way to approach the topic, “do you know the stories of King Arthur and The Sword in The Stone?”

 

The explanation that would follow was short, concise, and to the point, but it still took all of John’s willpower to keep from blurting out questions in the middle of the boy’s sentences. It was all clearly hogwash, some half-baked lie, but scarily enough, Sherlock seemed to believe every word. He could be an amazing actor when he wanted to be, but even the great Sherlock Holmes had tells, none of which showed up to the party.

“Now I know I might not be at your level,” he said, when the story finally came to its conclusion, “but I’m not an idiot either. There is no such thing as magic, King Arthur is just a fictional character, and there have never been bloody dragons flying above the River Thames!”

Merlin sighed, expecting a similar reaction, and held a closed fist to his lips, “Flinter.” Eyes fading to their natural blue, he held out his hand so John could see, and opened it to reveal a butterfly. They tended to scare people less than an open flame.

John stared in awe as the butterfly flew around in its invisible cage, clenched his jaw, nodded once, and walked to the kitchen to pour himself a tall glass of whisky. “I am going to have my tea, go to sleep, and if when I wake whatever drug you’ve got me on hasn’t worn off,” he shook his head, not bothering to look away from his glass, “then God help us all.” He watched as the warlock let the butterfly out the window, made himself a cup of tea, as promised, and slowly retreated to his room, whisky bottle in hand.

“That went surprisingly well,” murmured Merlin as the door softly clicked closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know the chapter is smaller than my love for asparagus but a new one should be coming out relatively soon (no promises)
> 
> also ill have you know that i originally had a horrible "John finds out" scene written where i literally said like "crying, tea, questions, and then silence" like not even saying what the questions were but i fixed it so yeah


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i realized how tiny these chappies are and i am going to be merging a few of them i think, but not yet, just when i feel like it, so it might be a while  
> also sorry for being scum (jk im always el presidente)

Finally, when Merlin was considering waking up the idiot himself, Arthur padded his way to the living room. It was clear to the whole room that he was still tensed, ready for an attack. “Merlin, where is Excalibur?”

Sherlock recognized an accent thick on the man’s lips, or rather, he didn’t. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before, though he did hear a few of the strange pronunciations that Merlin used. It must have been how they talked in the age of Camelot, fascinating.

Merlin looked up, the wistful grin he wore for much of the drive back returning. “Don’t worry dollop-head, I put it in a tree not far from here.”

Arthur didn’t look surprised, almost resigned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “A tree, you say?”

“Yeah,” Merlin shrugged his shoulders, “putting it in a stone again would be too obvious, and I just had bad feeling about putting it in the lake, like it wouldn’t be protected properly.”

“And you thought that a tree, a tree,” he emphasized, “would protect it better than an extremely powerful magic lake?”

“I had a feeling,” Merlin declared, as if it would completely validate his decision.

“Oh yes, you and your funny feelings.”

“Well, they do have a pretty decent tract record, and besides, I would know if anything hurt that tree, it’s magic, you know, never believe-” he trailed off his singing when Arthur just stared like a parent when their child doing something stupid, like that baby online that covered itself in peanut butter. He really should have him try all the new foods. God, is he giddy. “Arthur, you can’t just start walking through central London with a sword attached to your hip!”

“Why not?”

“Yeah, why not?” Sherlock chimed in.

“You’ll get arrested,” the blond still didn’t look very impressed.

“That’s what we have Mycroft for.” It was scary how little regard his brother had for the government, but he was right, the two could get away with nearly anything. That had come in handy far more times than he would care to admit.

When he turned his attention back to Arthur he knew that he couldn’t say no, after all, the first bit is always the sweetest. “You can take a knife, but it can only be a few centimeters long.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but it was nothing compared to Gaius’s. “What in the world is a centimeter?”

He wasn’t very placated when Merlin gestured with his fingers.

“You can’t be serious, that’s smaller than a dinner knife!” he cried, but all he received was an empathetic nod from Sherlock. “Can I use a mace or a war hammer?”

Merlin shook his head, “Things have changed, Arthur, a lot. People don’t need weapons anymore, there are people called police to protect everyone now. They’re this time’s knights. War is extremely rare, there are no wild animals around here, and magic has all but died off.”

With a suspicious glance toward the desk lamp, Arthur looked at the warlock with legitimate concern. “No, it hasn't.”

“What?”

“You seriously expect me to believe that that,” here he pointed to the lamp he was eyeing earlier, “isn’t powered by magic?”

Then it hit him, Arthur still had a thousand years before the concept of gravity came around. He was going to have to explain electricity, cars, outer space, all to the worst student he had ever met.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

\---------------------------------------

Waking up at sunrise the next day was a pain, that is until he remembered who lay beside him. Merlin hopped out of bed, not bothering to get changed, and started on the breakfast the prat undoubtedly expected. That was another thing he was going to have to explain, even the most helpless of idiots didn’t have servants anymore, especially ones that were nice enough to deliver them breakfast each morning.

When he was just finishing assembling a tray of foods that would be recognizable, Mr. Watson decided to make his way to the living room, giving a weary sigh when he saw the chicken plating itself.

Not noticing the existential crisis raging just a few steps away, Merlin made his way back to “Sherlock’s” room where he and Arthur were staying. Sherlock had slept on the couch in the center room for nearly his entire residence in the flat, so finding them a place to sleep wasn’t exactly rocket science. 

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” He yelled, pushing open the door with his foot.

Arthur didn’t budge.

He slammed the tray down on the room’s desk with an exaggerated clang.

Nothing.

He grinned, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Needless to say, Arthur became as alert as a jackrabbit when an air-horn went off, mercifully a few feet from his face. The only thing that stopped him from killing his manservant, was the factory produced doorknob that caught his eye as he passed, but it did stop him.

He stood in awe for a moment and turned it a few times, watching it work, as Merlin came back to watch softly. “It’s beautiful craftsmanship.” Now he looked at it curiously before swinging the door closed and twisting it open again.  
He pulled it closed once more before turning to his former manservant, “How rich are you? The living space is small, very small, but your possessions are far better than what even Camelot had.”

“Well technically, this place isn’t mine, Sherlie and John share it.”

“And those are the men who were in the living room earlier?”

“Yeah, and they aren’t rich. This is the standard these days.” He tried to imagine what a five pound mug would go for in Camelot and chuckled.

Ignoring the random laugh, Arthur moved on to the most important topic. “How do you know these men? Are they safe?”

Merlin snorted, “Depends on the day,” however he rushed to make amends when the warrior grasped the hilt of a kitchen knife he had taken to carrying in the waistband of the belt he donned. Given it was wrapped around a pair of too-tight purple joggers, it was a rather peculiar image. “No, no, I’m joking, they’re my friends.”

He relaxed a bit, but the knife stayed on his hip, “If you’re sure…”

Their hands found each other as they strolled into the living room, but Arthur dropped them when they came in sight of John. Merlin furrowed his brow, clearly identifying another major thing to inform his love of, but a voice rang out from the lump on the couch.

“Christ, this one looks homeless too.”

That conversation, or anything else important, was apparently going to have to wait.


End file.
